Spencer who?
by Klassic
Summary: Ashley and Spencer's chemistry is pretty amazing, so I thought I would try and capture it with this story. Just a one shot that might become more, might not, depending on the my circumstances


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of SON.

This is kinda just going to be a one-shot for now. It's basically describing the chemisty our two favorite girls have without any of the other crap interfering... I'm debating w/ myself whether I should expand along these lines or not. And sorry about being such a bad updater about the other stories. I just can't figure out the right way to make the stories flow smoothly, but i'll get to them soon...aaaanyways, read and enjoy...or not. your choice.

DeLi†e

* * *

The blue, yellow, red, purple hues swirled above their heads, trapping the two girls in this moment. Their bodies fit together seamlessly, and the onlookers often had trouble telling where one girl began and ended. There was a blonde and a brunette; it was always the same blonde and brunette that met at the club, dranking together at exactly 8:00, then dancing at 8:45 until they were panting in exertion with probably a little lust mixed in. As the music blared through the speakers, the two strangers danced away their troubles, not thinking of tomorrow, yesterday, or even of earlier that day. Just that moment in space, in time.

_I feel your heart beat.  
Your pasty hands shake.  
I'll be every breath  
Your trembling lips taste.  
Metal teeth try to save you.  
Button flies want to keep you pure.  
Nothing will stop me now.  
I will have you._

They danced to every song that the disc jockey chose to play, from soft cooing ballads to hard-core rock music. The blonde and brunette never talked to each other, never asked for names. And they didn't want any names. They had met one Friday night and since then on, had an unspoken agreement to dance away their troubles together the beginning of every weekend. They enjoyed sharing the known anonymity. If there were names, there were requirements, expectations. Nevertheless, they never danced with anyone else, and no one ever tried to get in between them.

_I was born to do this dance.  
So follow my every step.  
I'll lead your careening hips  
And slaughter your innocence._

But they made sure that they didn't do anything more than dance. Then things would get complicated, and if there were complications, the girls instinctively knew that they would have to break this unspoken agreement off. Still, dancing was dancing; at times it grew heated and the girls often tested the limits of the contract.

The other club-goers always commented behind their hands about how much chemistry the two girls seemed to have. They seemed to be exact opposites of each other. One, the brunette, was stunning with dreamy chocolate eyes whose softness belied the wickedness her grin held. She was the one seemed to have initiated the encounters. The blonde was nearly the exact opposite of her. Peircing blue eyes captured the attention of everyone who looked her way, but her smile was much softer and friendlier, as if a little shy. Nonetheless, they fit together like puzzle pieces, almost as if they had been born with the other opposite figure in mind.

_Her pearls and trap mutter something soft.  
I mutter back, "You're messin' with the  
Big leagues now, hun."  
I bite her neck.  
She begs, "What's in your heart?"  
She urges I spill my thoughts.  
I volunteer nothing but liquid._

They danced until the club closed, until they were almost the only ones left. The girls always departed when there were exactly twenty people left on the dance floor. That guaranteed that there were still enough people to hide behind without making the situation awkward and embarrassing.

_I have got centuries  
Of teachers before me.  
I can do anything.  
But I can't really do anything.  
You've been our guest tonight  
But I dine alone.  
This could never be a home_

They gathered their respective coats on opposite sides of the club. The brunette then left and went to her car, which was always a different vehicle. That particular night or morning, depending on which way you looked at it, the car was a Ferrari F430 whose size contradicted the amount of money that had been paid for a mere car. The blonde usually hung back, waiting for her former partner to leave, and talked to acquaintances she had met over the numerous times she visited the club. She then waited outside for a taxi, and took it back to her place.

The blonde and the brunette never spoke of these meetings with anyone else and once they had left the atmophere of the rowdy club; they just went on with their respective lives, simply going through the actions of life until the next weekend, when they became not two, but only one being.

* * *

I don't own the beautiful car that was brought up later on in the story, and the lyrics are from Forgive Durden's "Il Tango Della Signora Francesco Di Bartolommeo Di Zanobi Del Giocondo". Long title, I know, but you should really check out the car and song when you have the chance. +P 


End file.
